


Hokey-Pokey

by Araminta Carrington (Dargie)



Series: Araminta's Horseman Epic [3]
Category: Highlander (1986 1991 1994 2000 2007)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-12
Updated: 2010-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dargie/pseuds/Araminta%20Carrington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silas and Bobbi Jean tie the knot.  Mayhem ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hokey-Pokey

**Author's Note:**

> The final story in the Horseman series. Thank God.
> 
> Miss Araminta Carrington requests the pleasure of your company at her latest story, "Hokey-Pokey" She would like to remind all of you that most of the characters do not belong to her, and are on loan from Rysher and Davis/Panzer. Those characters and situations which are her creation are of course not to be diddled with by strangers. Moreover she points out that this is a not-for-profit affair d'coeur and she would not dream of taking a cent for her work though she doesn't mind feedback.  
> Miss Carrington cautions that there is an adult element to this story which makes it unsuitable for younger or more sensitive guests, and requests that those who fit into these categories refrain from attending.   
> Miss Carrington wishes you a very happy read.

Mac wasn't entirely sure how to feel about the engraved invitation that arrived in his mailbox one bright autumn morning:

"Mr. and Mrs. Frank X. Saltimbocca request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of their daughter, Roberta Giovanna, to Mr. Silas W. Horseman ("I didn't know his middle initial was double-u." "Stands for War.") on November 21st, 1999, at Our Lady of the Perpetual Indulgence Church. Reception will follow at the Elysian Fields Hotel, 12387 W. Yokohama St., Seacouver."

"Huh?" Methos said with his usual early-morning coherence.

"There's one for you, too." Duncan tossed it on the bed. "And something from a Mr. Silas Horseman. We're supposed to bring dates, too. I'll have to see if Amanda is in town."

"Ohmygod, Silas is asking me to be his best man," Methos groaned as he opened Silas' note first. "Listen: "Methos, my brother. Apologies for the lateness of this request, but as you know I've been hard at work on my first album – "Silas Sings Gershwin" -- and Bobbi Jean and I only just set the date and had her family arrange for the church and the hall. Please consider doing this, not just for me, but for both of us, as Bobbi Jean is very fond of you as, of course, I am. However if this is difficult for you, we will certainly understand. Please call me in Los Angeles at…" They're going to do it!"

"I didn't know Silas could write," Duncan said, looking at the note. The handwriting was distinctive, looking like a cross between cuneiform English and hieroglyphics. "Is this what you looked like back then?" Duncan asked pointing to a stick figure with a skull-head and wild hair sticking out in every direction that stood next to the name "Methos" on the page.

"I was skinnier," Methos told him. "Yeah, Silas has been working on his memoirs since about 1200 BC "Roberta Giovanna?" Can that be Bobbi Jean's real name? Roberta Giovanna Saltimbocca?"

Duncan shrugged.

While they were lying in bed, reading the rest of the mail and fighting over the sports section of the newspaper ("Hey, there's going to be a big bowling tournament downtown! Oh, come on, Duncan, stop staring at me like that.") the phone rang.

"MacLeod."

"Duncan!"

"Silas?"

"Silas?" Methos echoed.

"How are you, Duncan old man?"

"Just fine. Congratulations are in order, I see. Methos and I just got our invitations."

"Lemme talk to him," Methos said, grabbing for the phone. Mac slapped his hands away.

"Ah, good, good…I was hoping they'd arrived. Now the thing is, Duncan, I was wondering if I could impose upon your good nature and ask a huge favor of you."

Methos watched Duncan's face go from neutral to stricken. "Uh huh. Uh huh." Long pause. "Uh huh. Well Silas, it's such an honor… Uh huh. Right. Uh huh. Um…sure, why not? All for one and one for all, right, right. Want to talk to Methos? Okay. Give our love to Bobbi Jean. Uh huh. Bye."

"Why didn't he want to talk to me?"

"He was on his car phone and had another call coming through."

"Car phone? Silas?"

"It boggles the mind," Duncan admitted.

"You're standing up for him," Methos said, suspicion darkening his eyes. "I can tell."

Duncan took a deep breath. "Bobbi Jean's parents are making her have her cousin, Wynetta, as a bridesmaid, and they'd already used up all you horsemen and both of Bobbi Jean's brothers."

Methos looked horrified. "She's having six bridesmaids?"

Duncan nodded. "On the up side, we get to choose our own suits so long as they're black. Bobbi Jean is letting the bridesmaids choose their own dresses so long as they're black."

"Black?"

"She went to a black and white wedding in Los Angeles and loved it."

"Duncan, given the circumstances, don't you think it would have been better if they'd eloped?"

Duncan pursed his lips. "Do you want to be the one to tell Silas his Bobbi Jean can't have her big wedding?"

"Uh…no."

"Thank you."

Duncan called Amanda that afternoon. "See, Amanda, the thing is…"

"Duncan I know you can find any number of nice women to ask."

"But Amanda, I'd hoped…"

"Duncan, I'm already going to the wedding."

"What?"

"I'm Joe's date."

"Joe's been invited?"

"Yeah. Seems he and Silas met through some mutual friends in the music business, got to comparing notes and, well, they've gotten to be pretty chummy. Look, if it's any consolation, Kronos asked me too. I just got off the phone with him."

"KRONOS?"

"I guess he and Buffy aren't working out."

"I suppose Caspian is next," he said snidely.

"Oh no, Caspian is dating that girl he met when we went to Rocky Horror."

Duncan began to feel a little woozy and sat down. "Caspian's dating someone?"

"Erzabet's really very nice, Mac, even if she is a little odd looking. And she has a very good job at a latex boutique so…"

"No, no, I don't want to know any more Amanda."

"Okay," she said cheerfully. "I'm off to pick out a new dress. Ta darling." The line went dead.

"What?" Methos asked again.

"Kronos asked Amanda to go to the wedding with him, but she'd already promised to go with Joe who apparently knows Silas through some mutual friend in the music business, and Caspian is dating that girl we met at Rocky Horror, the one who looks like Magenta on steroids?"

Methos' mouth dropped open. "I thought Kronos was seeing Buffy."

"Apparently it's not working out."

"Color me totally surprised." He groaned and flopped back against the pillows. "I suppose I have to go buy a suit now, huh?"

Getting Methos to lay out good money for a suit was harder than MacLeod had expected. Not only was the world's oldest Immortal resistant to the suit-thing in general, his idea of a suitable suit was something off the rack at K-Mart. Armani, for Methos, was something you ordered with your cappuccino.

"But see how nice you look in it," Mac kept saying as Methos repeated the mantra of the truly cheap: "I have better things to do with my money!"

"Name one," MacLeod challenged.

"What about the starving people in India?"

"Oh what? You're gonna find some cut-rate polyester number at Suits-R-Us, and use the difference in price to end world hunger?"

"I'm only going to wear it one time, MacLeod!"

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do."

"What if we got married?"

Methos, his attention diverted from the price of the suit at last, said "Huh?"

"This could be your wedding suit."

"Mac are you proposing or is this just a generic sort of what-if-one-of-us-goes-mad-and-marries-someone-else question?"

It was Mac's turn to say "Huh?"

"Never mind. It'd be nice for funerals, too," Methos supposed. "And lord knows I can get to any number of those. Alas, I have no money." He turned to see Mac's eyes slitted suspiciously. "I guess I'll have to go with what I can afford."

The American Express card (Don't leave home – yours or anyone else's – without it.) made an appearance, and the salesman snatched it from Mac's fingers, taking a layer of skin with it.

"Gosh, Mac, I'd kiss you but it might excite him to come back and find us in a clinch."

They stopped for coffee on the way home and ran into Kronos and Caspian.

"I'm just worn out with shopping," Methos said as he sank down into his chair. "Mac made me buy a really expensive suit; I kept telling him Silas wouldn't know the difference…"

"You haven't seen Silas lately, have you?" Kronos asked. He was wearing a very pricey-looking pair of Ray Bans himself. "He and Bobbi Jean do all their shopping on Rodeo Drive these days. Caspian and I both got Brioni, courtesy of the groom. Caspian loves his but I'm a little disappointed. I was thinking about something a little less conservative."

"What are we coming to?" Methos mourned as Mac arrived with their lattes. "Hey… whattaya mean 'courtesy of the groom?' Why didn't he offer to pay for mine?"

Kronos shrugged. "Maybe you didn't whine at him the way I did."

"No, he whined at me. It had the same effect," Mac told him. "You're telling me you're a cheap asshole too?"

"Do those have caffeine in them?" Caspian asked hungrily.

"Caspian!" Kronos barked. "No!" And Caspian slouched back into his chair. "He's a little more tractable when he's off caffeine and sugar," he explained to the others.

"So is Methos," Duncan replied, earning himself a foul look. "Nice shades, Kronos."

"Oh thanks. Buffy bought them for me."

"Soooo, how is Buffy?"

"Fine. Fine… Nerve-wracking to be honest."

"Amanda told us you two were having some problems. Ow!" Methos yelped as Mac stepped firmly on his toe. "What?"

"How does Amanda know? Oh…Buffy. They've gotten pretty thick," he said mournfully. "Yeah we've broken up three times since…" he checked his watch. It was a Rolex. "Since breakfast, and I'm certain I have voice mail telling me it's over," he said, nodding at his cell phone on the table. "It's a gilded cage, boys. She's got more money than sense and daddy is a lawyer which is the only thing on this planet that really scares me," he added mournfully.

Duncan and Methos clucked sympathetically as Methos slipped a double chocolate amaretto-mocha biscotti to Caspian.

"At least you both have dates for the wedding," Duncan observed. "We're still trying to find ours."

"You could try Ashley and Cher," Kronos suggested. "Although…"

"What?"

"Well as of the last time Buffy and I went out to dinner with them they'd become radical lesbian feminists."

"Sounds perfect," Methos said. "You have their numbers?"

"You can reach them at this number," Kronos said, writing on one of the paper napkins with a silver pen.

"Nice pen. You should have your name engraved on it," Methos told him.

"I thought about it but "Kronos" looks too much like a brand name. Sort of ruined the effect."

Mac and Methos nodded thoughtfully, and Caspian jerked around in his chair like a marionette on speed.

"You gave him chocolate," Kronos accused Methos.

"Did not!"

"Look at his face!"

Everyone turned to stare at Caspian.

"Isn't that a new tattoo?" Methos asked half-heartedly when Kronos pointed to the chocolate smears around Caspian's mouth and said "What's that?"

"It's chocolate!"

"Mouse guts, maybe," Methos suggested.

Mac gagged delicately.

"It's fucking chocolate!" Kronos shouted earning some sour looks from the other patrons of the café.

"Wasn't me," Methos said. "Maybe Mac gave it to him."

"Huh?" Mac said.

"I'd ask you how you'd like to wear that latte," Kronos said from between clenched teeth, "but I doubt it would make much difference to the way you look anyway."

Methos tried to look affronted but the effect was spoiled when Mac and Caspian both began to giggle.

Kronos offered them a ride home in his new, blood red Masseratti. "We'll put Caspian in the trunk," he said.

"Kronos!"

"No, he likes riding in the trunk."

Caspian nodded.

"Thanks but I have the T-Bird. Nice wheels."

"Birthday present from Buffy."

"You don't even know when your birthday is," Methos accused, feeling severely under-appreciated by MacLeod.

Kronos shrugged as he shut Caspian in the trunk. "Well I get to have at least one a year, don't I? See you at the rehearsal," he yelled as he peeled away from the curb. Duncan and Methos stood watching in awed silence for a moment, then Duncan said: "Methos, I know he's a lot of fun in a group for a bit of slap and tickle and all, but is he that good? I mean one-on-one, so to speak?"

Methos gave him a look one might give a beloved but backward child. "Oh Mac…did you really take that "times were different, I was different" line at face value?"

 

The rehearsal was, predictably, awful.

Mac had called Ashley and Cher, and after some wheedling and a few desperate promises ("Yes, yes, we'll march in the next Gay Pride parade, I swear!") had managed to talk them into being his and Methos' dates respectively. On arriving at the church the night of the rehearsal, he found that they were also standing up for Bobbi Jean.

"You took advantage of us," he accused, and both women screamed with laughter. "That promise I made should be null and void."

"Just because you didn't know we'd be at the wedding anyway doesn't mean your promise isn't binding. Consider yourself lucky I didn't ask you to donate sperm, MacLeod," Cher told him between giggling fits. "We'll see your asses at the parade or else."

"And stop looking at us like you expect us to arrive at the church on Harleys," Ashley said primly.

"You have gotten a crewcut since I saw you last," Methos observed. "And the matching leather jackets might just be giving the wrong impression. However I, for one, would be happy to donate sperm if it would cancel out the parade promise."

"We'll take it under consideration. Anyway, I think Ash's hair is cute that way."

Buffy arrived with Kronos and everyone did air kisses. Kronos was wearing an expensive black silk tee, expensive black jeans and a very expensive black jacket. Mac was trying hard not to notice how attractive he looked, particularly with his expensive new haircut, which really only meant that someone had earned a lot of money by exploiting his hair's tendency to stand on end so that it all looked planned.

"Look at the fashion boy," Methos muttered.

"Jealous?" Kronos asked with an expensive archness.

"That you look like a thug from the right side of the tracks? Hardly."

"MacLeod! You're looking like, totally handsome," Buffy chirped.

"Buff…" Cher said, a little warning note in her voice.

"What? Oh poop, it was just a little slip."

"Buff here has a tendency to verbal recidivism," Ashley explained. "This whole Valley thing with its attendant pattern of up-speak is a highly repressive and parochial system of speech which is nothing more than an attempt to win approval from men. We're trying hard to break her of it."

"Now there are two things on the planet that scare me," Kronos observed as he slipped away with Mac and Methos. He lowered his sunglasses and looked at Methos who was wearing his habitual sweaterandjeans combo. "Have you had that outfit since the fucking Bronze age?"

"Don't go there, fashion boy."

They were drinking coffee in the kitchen when Caspian wandered in with Erzabet. "I love this church," she said. "It's sort of funky, isn't it? There's a sword stuck in the pillar over there. Hello boys." She kissed them all. "What's up? Where are the girls?"

"Upstairs discussing feminist speech patterns. Are you standing up for Bobbi Jean, too?"

"No. Caspian and I came from a meeting of Body-Alteration Professionals." They looked it, too, clad head to toe…well in Erzabet's case it was more armpit to about mid-thigh…in black leather and bits of silver. Mac noted that she was sporting a tattoo just like Caspian's. Not that it would have been easy to miss now that the side of her head was shaved like his. Bits of metal stuck out of the visible areas of their bodies. "We ran late so I just came along. So anyone got some minor-league substance to abuse? I don't think I can watch this unless I'm ripped."

Methos produced a bottle of single malt from inside his coat. "This do?"

"Probably better than reefer," she said, taking the bottle from him and swigging down a couple of good, healthy swallows. Mac had to admit that he could admire anyone, man or woman, who could handle a good single malt like that. For a girl with a dragon tattooed on her head, and a few dozen piercings, she had a lot of class.

The bottle got passed. It got passed again. By the time someone thought to look for them in the basement, they were all feeling a whole lot more mellow than when they started. In fact, Mac, who had noticed early on that Erzabet had shoulders like a line-backer, had also just noticed that they were very smooth and sexy-looking. It had been a long time since he'd had an amazon-type.

Bobbi Jean's Maid of Honor was her sister, Gina, a dark-eyed little vixen of about thirty who took one look at Silas' best man and started decorating the nursery. By contrast, cousin Wynetta was older, wiser, and clearly unimpressed by Mac or the rest of the groom's side. (Y'all look like trash to me. Yankee trash.") She was also considerably shorter than MacLeod, though her tower of platinum blonde hair ("Beldar, we must return to France immediately." "(Choke, wheeze) Shut up, Methos.") and stiletto-heeled shoes brought her almost even with him. Her fingernails, painted a color that could only have been called "steer liver," were long enough to decapitate any hapless Immortal to get in her way.

"All right now, ladies and gentlemen…ladies and…" The priest eyed Kronos suspiciously. "Don't I know you?"

"Don't think so Father," Kronos said in his best Boy's Town voice, "I'm from the east." Mac was startled at how angelic Kronos could look when he chose.

"Hmmm, said Father Flannagan, clearly unconvinced. "Well, shall we begin?"

"Silas," Mac whispered as the bride and her attendants worked out the march down the aisle, "who are all these people?"

"Those are Bobbi Jean's parents by the Saint Sebastian window," he said, indicating a short, dark-haired man and a tall, golden-blonde woman. They were both scowling which only served to heighten the drama of Sebastian being perforated above them. "And you've met Wynetta and Gina."

"Right," Mac said, through gritted teeth.

"And you know the girls, so that leaves her married sister, Bridget…"

 

"So now let me get this straight," Methos said, "Bobbi Jean, whose real name really is Roberta Giovanna Saltimbocca, is Italian-Hungarian on her father's side and Scots-Irish on her mother's side?"

"Right, and her mother's people come from Atlanta and they're all southern Baptists except for a few who remain stubbornly Papist."

"Tsk," said Methos, clearly shocked.

"I think cousin Wynetta was a sop to the Protestant side of the family, which, by the way, is very wealthy, though somewhat, um, unreconstructed. Wynetta says we all look like Yankee trash."

"So we do," Methos agreed. They were on their way to the rehearsal dinner at the hotel where the reception would take place.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Duncan…you poor lamb, look at the company you keep. Oh god," Methos moaned as they pulled up at the hotel. The building itself had a ghastly neo-Georgian façade in white stone that was badly in need of a scrub. The big, pink neon "Elysian Fields Hotel" sign blinked in an erratic rhythm in the crepuscular haze, casting weird shadows on the bright yellow and white striped canopy that went from door to curb. "Oh god."

The Masseratti pulled up behind them and Duncan could hear Buffy and Kronos chorus "Oh god." It might well have been the first thing they'd agreed on in weeks.

"I remember the Elysian Fields," Methos remarked. "Looked nothing like this."

The façade was the good news.

In the lobby, Bobbi Jean greeted each member of her wedding party with some variation of "I didn't pick it."

"It's all right, sweetheart," Duncan lied, kissing her cheek. "No one will notice."

The lobby was merely unfortunate in shades of algae and rancid butter, but the banquet hall – a huge room that might almost have been agreeable had it been paneled from floor to ceiling in dark walnut instead of just halfway – was papered above the dado in 1957-plastic-transistor-radio aquamarine and a shade of sea-foam green that looked like something Fitz had once brought up after a week-long bender on absinthe. And the whole room was trimmed with gold…everything was trimmed in gold, Duncan realized as he looked around, even the waitresses. It was, perhaps, not the most truly hideous room he had ever seen, but it was in the running for top ten of the last four hundred years.

"Oh god," he muttered.

"This is the Neptune Room," Caspian told them. "I'm starting to feel a little seasick."

"Sit down and take a few deep breaths," Methos suggested, but Erzabet handed him the bottle of scotch which he drained.

"Anybody got any smoke?" she asked, and Buffy produced a truly evil-looking piece of work from her purse.

"Ganja," Buffy explained. "A spliff lasts for days. Where shall we go?"

"Ladies' room?"

"Hey!" Methos said.

"Five thousand years old and you've never seen the inside of a ladies' room? It's time to further your education," Erzabet snapped. "Let's go. Round up anyone else who looks crazed."

The horsemen plus Duncan reunited in the All-Pink, All-the-Time Neptune Room Powder Room ("Are we inside someone's stomach?") along with their respective dates.

"I swear to god I've never seen this hotel before in my life," Bobbi Jean was saying miserably. She took a long toke off the spliff and passed it to Duncan. No point in being a boy scout at this stage of the game. He filled his lungs and passed it to Ashley.

"It'd look much better if we turned off all the lights and lit everything with candles. Black ones," Erzabet suggested and all the horsemen nodded.

"Or just set it on fire," Caspian added.

Everyone nodded.

"Honey," Silas said, "your parents tried to do their best for us." He sucked in a huge cloud of smoke and held it until his eyes unfocussed. By the time Buffy snipped off the burning tip into one of the toilets, there was a conga line snaking around the stalls and through the Pepto-Bismol pink sitting area. At the front of the line, Silas was singing "Cherry Oh Baby" while several people at the back of the line kept singing "day-oh…day- ay- ay- oh…" and in the middle Caspian was doing a good impersonation of Tom Waits singing "Big Yellow Taxi." They picked up a few strangers on the way back to the banquet hall including a bellboy, and a woman in a tee shirt that said "Times were different, I was different." Mac thought she pinched his butt as she peeled off and headed towards the elevators, but he was too wasted to be sure.

They were all feeling pretty mellow by the time they reached the dinner, and ate like horses, even though the food wasn't particularly promising. They also sucked up a lot of free booze. Bobbi Jean had gone from morose to bubbly, giggling at everything including the overcooked string beans, one of which found its way into Silas' ear. Unfortunately just before the dessert arrived, the wedding cake was wheeled out for the party's approval and the giggling stopped.

There was a long, stunned silence.

"It matches the room," Methos breathed. "It's turquoise and green...and brown."

"It looks moldy," Caspian said, but it was hard to tell if he was horrified or delighted.

Wynetta got up and stood beside the cake, and Duncan noticed a terrifying resemblance between Wynetta and the plastic bride-figure on the top. "Cousin Carolanne and I decided that what with all the cake decorating classes we'd had, that you shouldn't have to pay city prices for your wedding cake, Bobbi Jean."

"What do you suppose it looks like on the inside?" Kronos asked no one in particular.

"It's tilting," Cher observed. "To the northeast."

"The flowers are orange," Ashley added. "Why are the flowers orange?"

"I guess they're supposed to be gold," Methos said charitably.

"Anyone want some more ganja to settle their stomach?" Buffy asked, her face almost as green as the cake trim.

"The cake must die," Duncan said, recognizing in some small part of his soul that had he been entirely sober he would never have said it. Nevertheless nine pair of eyes turned looks of supreme gratitude on him, and he knew he was committed. He forged ahead in a whisper. "The question is, who does the deed? Wynetta already hates me so much that if I did anything to her cake she'd slit my throat with her fingernails. Besides, I have the American Express card and I know the name of a baker who can do another by tomorrow evening. I think I should be exempt."

Everyone nodded. Uneasily.

He got up. "I won't return until I've done what needs to be done."

It wasn't hard to find someone to provide a new cake, but paying for it was going to be painful, especially since he'd already gotten the couple an antique bed as a wedding present. Still, for the sake of the mental health of bride and groom (of which he still wasn't certain but never mind that) he knew this had to be done. The baker swore on his life it'd be at the hotel before two the next afternoon.

Then he got hold of banquet services…

There were some tears on cheeks when he got back to the dinner, and a bit of muffled laughter as well. Caspian was sitting at the table, covered in turquoise and brown frosting, and the cake was in pieces on the floor.

"Well done," he whispered to the other horsemen. "The cake is taken care of on both ends."

"Trash, trash, TRASH!" Wynetta screamed at an unfazed Caspian. She was covered in frosting, too, and being forcibly restrained by Max and Artie, two Saltimbocca cousins who looked like pro wrestlers.

"What happened?"

"Kronos gave him a cup of espresso and reminded him of the old days."

"Cruel but effective," Kronos said modestly. "Then I explained that he has these unfortunate spells and the color orange terrifies him.

"Carrot cake," Caspian said chewing happily.

Duncan stood up. "Um, folks…please, may I have your attention?"

The tooth-gnashing subsided slightly.

"I promise you that there will be a wedding cake for the reception. It may not be as, uh, beautiful as the one so tragically destroyed, but there will be one for our happy couple."

There was a round of applause, and a chorus of "Oh thank you!"s from the rest of the group. All except Wynetta who stared at him through slitted eyes.

The destruction of the cake pretty much ended the rehearsal dinner and Bobbi Jean's family began to disperse. A number of them were staying at the hotel, and Mac wondered if the overall ambience of the place was what had sent Wynetta off to begin with.

"You guys coming to the bachelor party?" Erzabet asked Methos and Duncan as they were leaving the hotel.

"What bachelor party?"

"The one right now."

"Nobody invited us."

"That's because it's at your place, Duncan, didn't we tell you?" She grinned at him. "Look, the girls are taking Bobbi Jean out for a "hoot 'n' a holler" as one of her less pole-up-the-ass cousins puts it, so Kronos said you boys wouldn't mind having Silas over for a bachelor party. Don't worry, we've got all the arrangements covered."

"Ohmygod," said Duncan, "Ohmygod."

"Hey, hey, I was just kidding. It's at Silas' place. Here's the address." She handed Methos a slip of paper. "Duncan, you feeling okay?"

"You've got an evil sense of humor, Erzabet."

"Count on it." She winked at him as she got in her car. Caspian waved from the trunk.

"Oh no, Duncan, no, not a bachelor party with the Horsemen," Methos whined as they climbed in the T-Bird and headed towards the address Erzabet had given Mac.

"So we'll stop in for an hour, Methos, what can it hurt?"

"Duncan, we were the most terrifying thing ever seen on the planet…until ATMs, at least. What do you think this is going to be like?"

"I assume that's a rhetorical question."

"Assume away, just leave your wallet in the glove box and your sense of disgust outside."

***

Gentle reader, I cannot hope to convey the scene of debauchery and licentiousness that followed. I hope that you cannot imagine the depravity to which our heroes were exposed, nor the ease with which they fit into the truly vile and debased company they had chosen to keep. I shall, for the sake of more sensitive readers, not attempt to describe any of the events of that night except to say that there were no depths to which the company did not go, no acts so disgusting or corrupt that they did not revel in them, and nothing so terrible that they didn't manage to wipe it from their minds before they woke up. However, as a moral lesson, I shall rejoin our heroes the morning after…

***

"Owww…"

"What?"

"My butt hurts."

"Well my head hurts. I hope to god there's no correlation there." Methos levered himself up off the floor and looked down at Duncan's ass. It was a measure of how lousy he felt that he didn't even stop for a moment to reflect on how perfect and pert it was, or on why Duncan's shorts were shoved down to his knees and all the rest of their clothing, including Methos' boxers, seemed to be missing. "OHMYGOD" he blurted.

"What???" Duncan came to life with fearful speed.

"You have a tattoo."

"WHAT????????" Duncan yelled.

"You have a tattoo," Methos repeated before he burst into howls of laughter.

Duncan sat up and winced, then he stared hard at Methos. "And you have an earring," he said. Something else caught his eye and he stared hard at that. "And a nipple ring." He couldn't help it, he looked further down. "Ohmygod."

Methos looked down too. "Ohmygod," he echoed.

"Are you two always this noisy in the morning?" It was Kronos, buck naked and holding two mugs of black coffee. They stared at him. "Ohmygod," they said in unison.

He handed them the mugs and looked down. "What's wrong? You don't like this sort of piercing? Buffy likes it," he said with a crooked grin. "On the other hand, yours isn't much good for anything but getting caught on stuff," he told Methos.

He turned to go and Duncan blurted, "Does she like the tattoo of Swamp Thing on your ass?" earning a look of deep respect from Methos.

"What??" Kronos spun around like a dog chasing it's own tail.

Methos chuckled. "Calm down, calm down, brother. Duncan was only kidding, weren't you, Duncan?"

"Yup." Duncan grinned at Kronos over the mug of coffee. He was trying hard not to imagine why Buffy liked the piercing for fear of disgracing himself.

"He meant to ask if she liked that pretty pink rose back there. You know, the one that says "Methos"?"

"Ohnonononono" Kronos moaned backing up to the mirror in the hall and seeing the terrible truth for himself.

The final count was ten hangovers, five of which disappeared with preternatural speed, six new tattoos and a dozen new piercings, a few of which disappeared too. Erzabet stopped by while the mortals were still puking and distributed the groom's gifts.

"Silas called me first thing this morning and had me get them. Told me you'd all had your ears pierced last night. Boy you guys look raw." Then she giggled. "You should see the girls."

"Tell me they didn't all get piercings," Methos begged, easing his tee shirt over a very sore, but rapidly healing nipple. "Speaking of which I have a few spare rings for anyone who needs them."

"No, only a few, but the tattoos were fun. You figured prominently in one of them."

"Huh?"

Each one of Silas' attendants got a one carat diamond earring set in platinum.

"To celebrate my wedding and the fact that Silas Sings Gershwin" has gone platinum already," Silas explained.

"Aw honey!" Erzabet cooed at Caspian whose tongue was hanging out of his mouth. "You did it! You did it for me!" She kissed him, but not before the others noticed the metal stud in his tongue.

"Do you suppose that'll chip his teeth if he gets too excited?" Duncan asked.

Methos shrugged. "More likely gonna chip her teeth if he gets too excited.

"Methos, I don't think it's her teeth he's going to be using it on."

"Hey, I found one of the strippers!" Bobbi Jean's brother shouted from the hall closet.

They got to the church at four that afternoon. Bobbi Jean's brothers still looked a little fragile ("I told them if they partied with Immortals, they'd lose.") but the rest of the wedding party seemed fit. Buffy was wearing a dress that could have paid for most of the wedding. Cher and Ashley actually did show up on matching Harleys.

"I wonder if they're absolutely committed to this lifestyle," Kronos muttered hungrily when he saw them in their leather jackets over very stylish designer dresses.

"Offer to donate some sperm," Methos advised.

Gina looked like a slut, but a well-dressed one in an expensive, tight, black sheath on which the hemline and the neckline nearly met in the middle, Brigit was conservatively dressed in a black silk suit. It seemed that Bobbi Jean had made the right decision when she had her attendants choose their own outfits. It was hard to go wrong with basic black and the pearls which were the bride's gift to each of them.

And then Duncan saw Wynetta. Everything that could go wrong with a bridesmaid's dress had gone wrong with Wynetta's. It was too snug around the hips and too loose in the bust, though given her build he wasn't sure how that was possible. The ruffles at the neckline which hid one of her best features were so big and flouncy they also hid the string of pearls almost completely, and coupled with the empire waistline, made her look as if her head, arms and legs were just tacked on to her breasts. Her arms were bare and her bra strap kept falling down, forcibly calling attention to the fact that her face – which looked like a Tammy Faye Baker mask - was a dramatically different color from the rest of her skin. The hem of the dress was so ruffled it looked as if her feet had exploded, and somehow she had managed to find a dress in a vastly different shade of black than anyone else's. The billowy chiffon wasn't quite black and it wasn't quite charcoal, and if it hadn't sounded like such an impossibility, Duncan would have said she'd managed to find the only dress ever made in "dusty black."

"Wynetta," he choked. "What a remarkable dress! Where did you find it?"

"Shut up," she said. "Trash." It was amazing how she could speak without moving her mouth and cracking her foundation.

Guests began to arrive and Duncan and the others were put to work seating them. It got to be a joke after the first ten minutes.

"Don't tell me, I'm psychic," Methos would say. "Bride's side, right?"

"However did you know, young man?"

"Call it intuition."

"Bride or Groom?" Kronos would ask and then add "Say 'Groom' if you know what's good for you."

Caspian simply put people wherever he thought they looked best which actually made for rather a nice mix in the church and very few people were inclined to argue with him, especially after they saw his tongue. Methos observed that it was a shame Erzabet wasn't standing up for Bobbi Jean. She and Caspian would have made nice bookends with their black Mohawks and matching dragon tattoos.

Duncan greeted Joe and Amanda. "Amanda, you look gorgeous as always." She was wearing a cherry-red suede suit, trimmed in black, with the skirt slit up to her hip on one side, and a very chic matching hat with a black veil. Her make-up was very Bride-of-Dracula.

She gave him air kisses and hooked her arm through Joe's. "I was afraid we'd be late; Joe is such an animal."

Joe blushed a little but he was grinning.

He was also the one to greet Cassandra and Byron. "Bride or, oh god…"

"Which one of the Horsedorks are you again?" Byron asked.

"Silly, that's Duncan, he's not one of them, are you darling?"

Duncan kept an arm's-length away from Cassie. "We're speaking again?"

"Of course we are!"

She wanted something. He was sure of it. "I didn't know you were invited. How nice."

"I guess it was Silas' idea. Smooth over old hurts and all."

Privately Duncan thought it might have something to do with making the numbers just a bit more even, but he didn't make that observation. He seated them and beat a hasty retreat.

"Was that Cassandra?" Kronos asked.

"Yeah. And Byron."

"Man, Silas invited everyone he's ever met. I just seated a whole family of Ukrainian goat-herders. Say they lived one hovel down from him in the forest."

"Yeah well if I was marrying into this family I'd want to even the playing field a little."

"True, true. Nice suit. Missoni?"

"Yeah. Yours is great; I should check Brioni next time I need a suit."

'Feels good y'know?"

They were comparing notes on fabric when one of Bobbi Jean's cousins arrived. "Oh my," he said, eyeing the two of them lewdly. "Bride's side but something tells me I'm going to want to switch."

"He's yours," Kronos said and went off to seat Bobbi Jean's great-grandmother.

"Come this way," Duncan said.

"Darling if I could cum that way I'd disgrace myself before the ceremony. I'm Travis, honey. Why don't you save me a dance on your dance card?"

"Enjoy the ceremony, Travis." Duncan narrowly avoided being pinched.

"Do I have 'Goes down for anyone' tattooed on my forehead?" he hissed at Methos.

"I hadn't noticed that particular tattoo. Why?"

"One of Bobbi Jean's cousins just put the moves on me."

"Duncan, you know women find you irresistible."

"His name is Travis."

"Travis?" Methos guffawed. "Tall? Blond? Reallllly good-looking in a queeny southern belle sort of way?"

"Yeah, you know him?"

"That's Wynetta's baby brother."

"My day just got a thousand percent better," Duncan grumped.

The ceremony went without a hitch, though Father Flannagan kept eyeing the assembled horsemen with suspicion.

Bobbi Jean looked gorgeous, coming down the aisle all in white with a white bouquet. It was true, Duncan decided, all brides were beautiful.

Silas cried during the ceremony. Duncan marked that down in his mental folder entitled "Odd things I know about the Horsemen."

When it was finally over, and the bride and groom were on their way to the hotel, the groom's men climbed into their limo and proceeded to raid the wet bar.

"No offense," Kronos said to Bobbi Jean's brothers, "but there's one branch of your family tree that goes straight up, isn't there?" He tossed back a stiff shot of brandy and poured himself another.

"None taken," Joey assured the others. "We only stay in contact with them because of great granny."

"They're not quite out of Deliverance," Johnny added, "but they're still pretty scary."

"What's Travis' story?" Duncan asked.

"Watch out for Travis, man, he has fast hands," Johnny advised, and Joey nodded in agreement. "More than one guest at family gatherings has explored his sexuality with Travis after a few belts of sour mash bourbon." "Yeah," Johnny added, "and he's Wynetta's little angel. You get caught with your pants down and Travis on his knees in front of you and Wynetta'll take your balls home as a souvenir."

All the more reason, Duncan thought, to avoid Travis as if he was one of Kronos' more potent viral stews.

By the time they got to the hotel ("One more time around the block, Odysseus, we haven't finished the gin yet.") there was a game of football going on in the back of the limo. The driver, wanting to be rid of them, pulled up to the curb, jumped out and wrenched the door open, and all six groom's men came tumbling out, giggling and fighting over the last olive in the jar.

But the sight of the banquet room was sobering.

"What happened?" Caspian asked, eyes wide.

"Money well spent," Duncan replied with satisfaction. The party planner had done exactly what he'd asked for: Disguised the worst elements of the room with some fabric and ribbon, and had the flower order changed to black and white arrangements big enough to take people's minds off the bits of décor that couldn't be disguised. The setting had gone from ugly, to simple, graceful and black and white overnight. Bobbi Jean's parents looked confused, but when people started coming up and congratulating them on the way things looked, they relaxed.

"What did this set you back?" Methos whispered.

"Don't even go there," Mac advised. "I'm trying not to think about it."

Bobbi Jean caught his hand between hers. "This is your doing, isn't it, Duncan?"

"Guilty as charged. I hope you and Silas don't mind."

She lifted herself up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Silas and I owe you big-time. Wait until you see the cake." She led him to the front of the room where the wedding cake stood beside the bridal table. Silas was staring at it, tears in his eyes.

"It looks like it was made by angels, Duncan," he said, and caught the Highlander in a bear hug.

Duncan had to admit it was the prettiest wedding cake he'd ever seen, looking miraculously both inviting and crisply perfect all in white, with cascading white roses and lilies, gauzy ribbon and sugar crystals sparkling in the light, and just the barest touch of black trim. Every woman in the room – except for Wynetta – gravitated to it and sighed soulfully.

Cocktails were served first, and Duncan found himself in a group of Horsemen, their female companions, and Cassandra and Byron.

"So, Cassandra," Ashley asked, "What were they like back when?"

"Dirty, sweaty and smelly," she snapped.

Buffy gave Kronos a look that could freeze hot coals.

"Times were different," he told her.

"None of them ever put the seat back down, they fought over everything, there was no such thing as table manners, and when they got bored," Cassandra continued, "They'd have belching and farting contests."

"That's it," Buffy said, "We are totally breaking up."

Erzabet and the other girls all laughed. Erzabet asked, "So who won?"

"Methos," Kronos told them, watching Buffy go with a look of relief on his face. "Methos could fart all the popular tunes of the day."

"I can still hum some of those," Caspian said, his face reminiscent and entirely guileless. Kronos snorted and Ashley and Cher shrieked with laughter.

"You are a dead man, Kronos." Methos looked to Duncan to substantiate that he was not the type to indulge in such juvenile pastimes, but Duncan was doubled over laughing, tears pouring down his face.

"Can you (wheeze, wheeze, snort) do Melancholy Baby? (peculiar braying noise)"

Erzabet asked, "So what were the popular tunes of the day?"

Methos went on looking cranky for a moment or two longer, then a big grin lit up his face and he began to chant: "Oh Inanna, give me a hard-on, Oh, Inanna, give me a hard-on…"

Cassandra managed to corner Duncan once the others had drifted off. "Duncan, darling, I need a favor."

"I thought as much; you were being too nice to me."

"That's a terrible thing to say to me!"

"It's the truth," he observed. "You weren't speaking to me last time we met and now it's all "Duncan darling" and cooing and carrying on like an ingenue. You've always been like that with me," he said, warming to the discussion. "Even when I was a kid. You know there are laws against pedophilia now, Cassandra."

"Times were different, Duncan. I was different."

He rolled his eyes. "Why do people keep saying that to me? So what is it?"

"I need you to kill Byron for me."

"What? Why?"

"Because he bores me and I can't get rid of him. If I have to listen to that "Childe Harold Unplugged" album again I'm going to puke."

"Don't you think death is a little excessive? What about just breaking up with him?"

She sighed. "I tried and he began to write a song about my hands – cruel digits and scimitar-nailed siren and god knows what else. Then he threatens to fling himself off the Jungfrau which would be fine with me, but he plans on taking me with him, says it would be a great album cover. And I'm just sick of him, Duncan. Can't you do something?"

"I'll think about it," he promised, a plan forming in his mind already.

Dinner was a little more pleasant for being slightly shit-faced, Duncan decided. On one side he had Wynetta who kept hissing at him and on the other, Gina who was completely focused on Methos. ("So what do you do for a living?" ("Read.") "You have a girlfriend?" ("Not living.") "Do you like brunettes?" ("Yes…oh yes.") "What's your favorite food?" ("Doormice in pastry.") "Do you like children? ("If properly cooked, yes."))

Despite Gina's attentions, Methos did an excellent job with his speech: "This may come as a surprise to some of you, but I've never been a Best Man before. Always a Bridegroom, ("Or a bride" from Kronos) never a Best Man, isn't that how it goes? (Some laughter, one or two corrections from the anal retentives in the room.) But when Silas called to ask me, I was honored. The fact that the rest of his friends are both illiterate and lacking any semblance of a sense of humor didn't have anything to do with the choice, I'm sure. Not that I didn't have my reservations, mind you. There's nothing wrong with my memory; I recall that unfortunate incident with the Whore of Babylon quite well. (Some shrieks of laughter, and a few horrified looks from the Southern Baptists.) So when I realized it was Bobbi Jean he was marrying, I was thrilled. (Much applause.) I'm not going to say Silas has poor taste in women because we can all see that's not so. (More applause and a low rumble of masculine approval.) And in fact, Bobbi Jean, I have a few private messages for you from admiring gentlemen…" At this point, Silas seemed to be about to stand up, and Bobbi Jean grabbed his sleeve and spoke sharply to him.

"Ahhh….wishing you all the best and expressing their regrets that they didn't meet you first," Methos added quickly. " Now, I do have to admit, though, that in the past there have been some fairly frightening episodes in Silas' love life. (Lots of knowing laughter. Silas relaxed slightly.) But it's not my place to reopen old wounds (titters of amusement), I'm sure married life will do that nicely without my help. (Guffaws.) All I can really say is that he couldn't have chosen a nicer, sweeter, more charming woman to share his life with (cheers and lots of applause and a huge smile from Silas), and I only hope we will all be so lucky when it gets to be our turn. Ladies and Gentlemen, please join me in a toast to the happy couple."

And everyone stood and had a drink to Silas and Bobbi Jean who did indeed look like the happiest people on earth, a sight which went a long way towards making up for the feel of Travis standing behind him, hand cupping Duncan's right butt cheek.

"I have a sword on me and I can take that hand off at the wrist, Travis," he hissed, and was gratified to feel the hand get jerked away. "Now give it a rest."

Travis backed off.

"What did you just say to my baby brother, you trash?"

"I told him that he was cramping your style, Wynetta. You see that man over there?" he asked, pointing at Byron. "He can't keep his eyes off of you. Would you like to meet him?"

Wynetta gave Duncan a look of pure loathing mixed with complete suspicion. "Why should I want to meet one of your trashy friends?"

"Oh he isn't a friend of mine. Don't you recognize him? That's Lord Byron, the poet."

"How dumb do you think I am?" she demanded. "I know Lord Byron is dead. He died, um…during the war of Northern aggression."

Duncan tried not to smile. "That must be some other Byron, Wynetta, this is the poet. You know the Immortal Poet?"

"That's not what it means."

"What?"

"Immortal Poet. It doesn't mean he's still alive."

"Sure it does."

"Oh yeah? Then where's William Shakespeare?"

"He runs a bar in Key West and writes jingles for television ads." Duncan was certain he hadn't ever told this many lies in a twenty-four hour period, but he felt he was getting quite good at it. "Oh well, if you don't want to meet Byron…"

"You really mean he's Byron? The Byron?"

"Absolutely."

"Well maybe it wouldn't hurt," she decided.

"I'll make sure you get a dance with him, Wynetta. Promise." He got up to get himself another drink, amazed that he was still walking straight, or at least straight enough to not fall over Gina who was nearly in Methos' lap, or Buffy who was telling Kronos that she was SO sure that Reggae belching was going to be the next big thing in music. Kronos mouthed "help" at Duncan who noticed, to his everlasting shock, that Kronos had a dimple. The universe shifted on its axis and suddenly Methos and his motivations didn't seem so alien.

"Buffy, angel, I really, really…really need to speak to Kronos about the wedding cake," he said.

"Oh right."

"C'mon K." He grabbed Kronos' sleeve and the two of them retreated to the lobby. "I am so fucking drunk," Duncan announced. "Is there someplace in this god-forsaken hotel you and I can go to fool around?"

"Before the cake?"

"Fuck the cake."

Two of Bobbi Jean's elderly aunts overheard and made clucking noises.

"I paid for the fucking thing!" Duncan insisted. Kronos hauled him to the elevator.

"You get crazed when you're liquored up, Duncan." He punched the button for the top floor. "I think some air would be good for you."

"Do you know what I want to do to you?"

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me."

"Well right now, I think I'm going to throw up," Duncan said as the elevator sped to the top floor leaving his stomach somewhere near the lobby.

"How romantic. Not here, not here…hold that thought." The door opened with a ding and Kronos told him to take a deep breath or two. "Solid ground. We're on solid ground."

Then somehow he and Duncan were on the roof, and between the cool evening air and the light breeze, Duncan began to feel a good deal better. He pulled Kronos into a clinch. "You have a dimple," he observed.

"Terrible drawback for a stone killer."

"It may cause me to fall in love with you."

"Oh Duncan, I hope not. Why don't we just have wild sex and call it even?"

Duncan thought about it for a moment, then said, "Okay, sure. Why not?"

They were working on a serious lip-lock with some hand action when the door to the roof banged open. Byron.

"Oh god," Duncan groaned.

"No, George Gordon, Lord Byron," the poet intoned. "But people make that mistake a lot. Pay no attention to me, young lovers. I've come here to damn God to His face!"

"I knew the open bar was a mistake," Kronos whispered. "I told Silas…"

Byron reeled to the edge of the roof and shook his fist at the sky. "You'll be sorry when I'm dead!" he shouted.

Duncan had just managed to get one hand inside Kronos' trousers when the door opened again. Travis.

"Oh no, oh fuck," Duncan growled. Kronos began to laugh.

"Duncan! I've been looking for…" Travis glared at Kronos. "Who is this bitch?"

"You never liked me best!" Byron screamed at the darkened horizon.

"Bitch?" Kronos said, biting off the word sharply. "Excuse me, but did I just hear the word "bitch" applied to myself?"

"You heard me right, Miss Thing. I've had my eye on this man all night. He promised me a dance."

The door shot open again and Johnny and Joey spilled out onto the roof. "Please don't kill him," Joey begged. "It'd be so hard to explain."

"Then get this dizzy queen out of my face," Kronos said, his eyes glittering in the darkness. Duncan found he quite enjoyed the aura of danger crackling around the little Horseman.

Byron started jumping up and down, waving his arms like Basil Fawlty on speed. "I didn't ask to be born y'know!"

"What's he doing?" Johnny asked.

"Trying out some new material. Travis, have you met Byron?" Duncan asked.

"Byron who?"

"Lord Byron the poet."

"He's dead."

"No he's not, he just pretends he'd rather be. Byron…Byron!"

Byron, was stamping his foot and barking "I don't have to do anything you tell me!" when he heard Duncan and turned. "What?"

"I wanted to introduce you to Travis. Travis, George Gordon, Lord Byron. Gordo, this is Travis Flowers."

"Enchanted," Byron said, sounding bored.

"Lord Byron was a poet," Travis protested, "and he's dead."

"Was a poet? Dead??" Byron whipped out a sword and pointed it at Travis' nose. "Take that back!" Johnny and Joey both squeaked, imagining Travis ending up as a piece of shashlik.

"Which part?"

The question seemed to confuse Byron. "Huh?"

The door to the roof opened again and Silas, Methos and Caspian joined the group.

"Is this a fucking convention?" Duncan demanded, putting his hair back in its clip. Kronos zipped up his trousers, a gesture not lost on Methos.

"Put the sword away, Gordo," Silas suggested. "Let's all sit down and have a nice chat."

"I brought some Thai Stick," Caspian said, or tried to. The stud in his tongue reduced much of what he said to lisping baby talk. Just to hear him try to say "some Thai Stick" provoked Duncan to near hysterics.

"Okay, let's all get nice and wasted before we go back," Silas suggested. "And we can all be friends again." He sat down on the edge of the roof and Caspian sat beside him and lit the joint.

"Blessed are the cheese-makers," Methos remarked, sitting beside Silas. "Great wedding, brother."

"Thank you, brother," Silas rumbled and passed the joint to Methos.

One-by-one the other Immortals joined them. Johnny and Joey kept a foot or two back from the edge, sitting on a ventilator cover. Travis wasn't sure where he wanted to be apart from underneath Duncan, which wasn't quite feasible at the moment. He stood with his cousins hoping that Duncan could see how nice he looked with the wind ruffling his golden hair.

"So what was it we interrupted?" Methos asked Duncan.

"I was just introducing Byron and Travis."

"No, before that."

"He was groping Kronos," Byron said, and took a nice deep toke before passing the joint to Kronos who said, "Hey Travis, did you know Byron can fly?" And he elbowed the poet off the edge of the building.

There was a collective gasp. The Immortals all peered over the edge of the roof. Travis screamed, and Johnny and Joey both began to gag when they heard the wet thump like a sack full of pasta hitting the pavement.

"Hunh, guess I was mistaken," Kronos muttered.

Caspian held up imaginary scorecards. "Thix point three from the Bulgarian judge," he announced.

Then a voice from very far below them shouted up. "That wasn't funny you know!"

"Oh god, now he's pissed," Methos said.

"I'd say he has reason to be," Duncan agreed. "Kronos, what were you thinking?"

"Mayhem, havoc…the usual stuff. Why?"

"Damn, and I promised to introduce him to Wynetta."

"My sister? You killed a guy who might be interested in Wynetta? Are you insane?" Travis shouted at Kronos.

"Oh he's not dead…" Duncan peered down at the mess on the ground. "He won't stay dead long," he amended. "He's an Immortal poet, remember?" the Highlander said, getting up and throwing a friendly arm around Travis' shoulder. "C'mon, let's go meet him downstairs and buy him a drink. He was having some trouble with God earlier so I expect a shot of brandy will help." They entered the building to the faint sound of sirens.

Travis was a peculiar shade of green the whole way down from the roof. It clashed with his hair.

"So what were you and Duncan doing on the roof?" Methos whispered to Kronos.

"Smooching," Kronos said, drawing the "o"s out in a way that made his lips startlingly tempting. "Getting ready to do the horizontal mambo."

"You know I could cut your head off with the cake knife and no one would blink."

"Temper! You don't want to ruin the wedding, do you?"

"You keep your hands off of him, fashion boy."

"Make. Me." Kronos smiled serenely. "Oh," he added as the doors slid open and everyone else exited. "You could always watch." He followed Duncan and Travis back to the wedding dinner.

Methos just stood in the elevator, riding up and down for a while, going slowly from furious to curious. Kronos had always had the inside track to Methos' libido, and this was no exception. The idea of watching Duncan and Kronos together had a not all together unpleasant effect on Methos, though it did make the elevator ride with Bobbi Jean's mother a little more stressful than it needed to be.

"Having a good time?" she asked.

"Um. Grand."

"Apparently. Do you…like elevators, Mister, uh…"

"Pierson. Adam, please. Yes, I'm something of a student of elevators. Otis," he said. "Nice."

"Uh Huh…yes."

"Very nice ceremony and reception."

"Thank you, Adam." The doors opened on the main floor and Mrs. Saltimbocca stepped out. "Aren't you…uh…" her expression was pained and she seemed to be groping for the right word. "Coming?" she asked at last, her voice cracking slightly. She avoided his eyes for which Methos was grateful.

"Um, no, I think I'm just going to…ride up and down a few more times," he said, voice straining with hysterical laughter. The elevator doors slid shut.

In the banquet room, Mac was trying to make peace. "C'mon, Gordo, he didn't mean it."

"He pushed me off the roof and he didn't mean it? What did he mean?"

"Meant to slice your head off and then shove you off the roof," Kronos told Byron as he handed him a double shot of cognac.

"Suit's not too bad, not too many blood stains," Duncan said, trying to be helpful. Bit dirty in back." He brushed at Byron's velvet coat only to have a hunk of it come away in his hand. He shoved the tattered cloth at Kronos who hid it under his own jacket. "Besides, Wynetta's so awestruck at the thought of meeting the great Lord Byron she won't notice."

The praise had the desired effect. Byron began to preen. "Awestruck, you say? Well we need to give the dear girl a little pleasure in her drab existence, don't we? Very well, Duncan…" He tossed back the brandy. "Point me in her direction."

Duncan turned him and pointed out Wynetta. He felt Byron sag.

"She has spiders on her eyes!" he insisted, voice rising to an hysterical pitch.

"She's not very good with the mascara brush," Duncan admitted. "But that can be cleaned up."

"She's orange!"

"It's just makeup."

"She has no neck."

"I'm sure there's one under all those ruffles," Kronos whispered, pressing another drink into Byron's hand.

"She has quite a figure," Duncan whispered from the other side.

"Her hair looks like the Tower of Babel," Byron insisted. He tossed back the second drink, doubled over and gagged so violently that the other guests went scurrying to a safe distance. When he straightened up his eyes were almost completely unfocused.

"Byron, just throw a Union Jack over her head and think of England."

"All right. Get me there, MacClod, and I'll do the rest," he said.

When Duncan had Byron and Wynetta safely seated together, he went back to Kronos. "What the hell was in that glass?"

Kronos shrugged. "Vodka…tequila…a little absinthe for color. Want some?" he asked, offering a flask.

"Are you trying to kill him again?" Mac asked, taking a swig. He doubled over and gagged, too. "That stuff deserves to be illegal." When he straightened up, he noticed that the room had taken on a nice, greenish tint.

"Dance?"

"Us? We'll look ridiculous."

"So what? You think you haven't looked ridiculous at least a dozen times in the last week?"

Mac's voice went up a few decibels. "What?"

"Okay, everyone, it's time for the Hokey-Pokey!" the bandleader shouted, and suddenly the dance floor was mobbed.

"What's happening?"

"Apparently it's the Hokey-Pokey," Methos said as he got shoved against Kronos by two of Bobbi Jean's linebacker cousins. "Hi Max, Artie…we were just about to sit down."

"Hey man, it's the Hokey-Pokey!" Artie said unnecessarily. "You gotta dance it, Meeth. That's the rule."

Kronos had a dazed look on his face as the music began.

"Everybody form a circle!" people were shouting.

"I need to sit down," Kronos kept saying, but Max had hold of his arm.

"I'll help ya, little guy."

Put your left foot in,

 

"Here, stick your foot in the circle," Artie and Max told them in unison.

 

Your left foot out,

 

"Pull it back out now." Methos and Kronos, who were a beat behind everyone else both moaned when they heard: Your left foot in, And shake it all about. You do the hokey pokey

"What? What's the hokey pokey?" Kronos yelled, and Max wrenched his hands up above his head and began to shake them as he spun him around. "C'mon, Krony, man, shake those hands!"

Methos found if he just shook his arms, Artie would leave him alone and not spin him. Poor Kronos was still being spun around by Max. That's what it's all about.

You put your head in, Methos noticed Caspian head-banging on the other side of the circle. Bobbi Jean's grandmother was just staring at him, forgetting to hokey pokey entirely.

You put your head out, Put your head in, And shake it all about.

"I'll hurl on your shoes," Kronos threatened, and Max moved a few places down. It wasn't for nothing that Kronos was known as One Scary Dude.

Do the Hokey Pokey And turn yourself around. That's what it's all about.

Let's Do the Hooooookey Pokey!

Suddenly, the entire group began to act like the Assembly of the Temple of Dagon on the high holy days when it was bow down or get tossed into the Fiery Belly of Dagon.

Let's Do the Hoooookey Pokey!

"Methos!"

"What?"

"Is this Hokey Pokey some sort of god?"

"I dunno." Let's Do the Hooooookey Pokey! That's what it's all about. They exchanged horrified looks.

Put your right hand in, They both shoved their right hands into the circle. Better safe than sorry.

Now put your tongue in, There was a lot of good-natured giggling, some fairly lewd. Methos stuck his tongue out and waggled it at Duncan who was looking pained. And your tongue out, Tongue in, He and Kronos managed to turn those few seconds into true obscenity. And Blblblblbl! You do the Hokey Pokey

"Hey Methos, wasn't Hokey Pokey what you and I used to do after a raid?"

You put your bottom in, "Now I'm sure of it," Kronos said with a laugh. Put your bottom out,

"I remember once you put your bottom out with that weird position you wanted to try."

You put your bottom in... There was a lot of laughter by that time. Somebody groped Methos and he straightened up fast and looked around. Apart from Gina who looked like she'd just swallowed something really succulent, the only other item of interest was the sight of MacLeod shouting at Travis and waving his arms. That big vein in his forehead was sticking out again.

Do the Hokey Pokey, Turn yourself about. That's what it's all about! Let's do the Hooooookey Pokey!

"Oh let's not," Kronos said, heading towards the table. Let the gods turn him into chow mein; he was sick of this dance.

Let's do the Hoooookey Pokey!

Besides, he wanted to do the hokey pokey with Duncan, not the rest of the group. "Duncan!"

"Kronos!"

"You want me?"

"Yes!"

"Take me now, Highlander."

They were almost out the door when cousin Artie grabbed Kronos by the belt and hauled him back into the room. "Hey little guy, it's the Chicken Dance!"

The last Duncan saw of him was a look of pure terror, his mouth contorted in a scream of horror. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooo……" Mac ran for help.

"Methos, Amanda, you have to help me find Kronos!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"He was taken by the chicken dancers!"

All three Immortals turned and looked at the dance floor where the flock of chicken dancers were jumping up and down and waving their arms and generally behaving as if someone had put flubber in their dessert.

"Poor guy," Amanda breathed. "D'you think he'll make it?"

"Kronos is strong," Methos assured them. He wished he felt as certain as he sounded.

"We can't just leave him out there."

"What else can we do?"

Duncan squared his jaw. There was a look in his eyes that Amanda and Methos had never seen before. "If I don't come out in five minutes, one of you has to promise to come in after me."

"Duncan, you can't. He might already be gone, you can't sacrifice yourself…"

Methos put both hands up. "Don't do anything rash, MacLeod. Remember all the shitty things he used to do."

"So did you."

"Yeah but I'm not dumb enough to end up out there, flapping."

"This isn't justice, Methos, it's just torture. Where's m'sword?"

"Uh, I think they're using it to cut the cake. Sorry, Mac."

Mac pushed Methos aside and began to flap. He moved resolutely into the crush of chicken dancers.

"Don't you love it when he's manly?" Amanda sighed.

"I actually prefer it to watching him flap. Ugh, that's unattractive. Even when Duncan does it."

Minutes passed. More minutes passed.

"Don't you think one of us…"

"He's on his own, Amanda. I'm not going out there."

Just then, there was a break in the outer edge of the circle and Duncan burst through, half dragging Kronos who was obviously delirious.

"Someone get him some champagne, quick," Duncan yelled.

Amanda scurried off to get a bottle.

"When I found him, he'd begun to squawk," Duncan told Methos, his face a mask of grief.

"Oh god, Duncan, you saved him, but at what cost?"

"We'll know when he comes around."

Amanda returned with a bottle of champagne and MacLeod propped Kronos up and put the bottle to his lips. "Try to drink just a little, old man," he urged.

Kronos sipped, then he began to gulp down wine as if it was water.

"Take it easy, brother," Methos said, holding him.

"The chickens," Kronos moaned. "The chickens."

"Hey cool danth, huh?" Caspian said, coming out of the banquet room. "Whath with Kronoth?"

"The chicken dancers got him," Amanda said, petting Kronos' cheek. Mac noticed that he seemed pretty content pressed up against Amanda's cleavage like that.

"Thilas thaid thith ith the latht number," Caspian told them. Never had Duncan been so grateful for a word without the letter ess in it.

"The DJ'll be in thoon."

"You going to headbang all night?" Kronos asked, fingers tickling a warm, flushed expanse of skin at Amanda's neckline. She was grinning.

"Thought I might. What're you going to do?"

"I think…bang something else."

Duncan was just about to establish his claim on Kronos' attention when Silas came out to the hallway. "Brothers, the DJ is here and it's time for the Horsemen to make an appearance. Let's go." He pulled Kronos to his feet and dragged him back into the dance. Methos groaned but he followed.

"C'mon Mac, you might as well sing backup."

"Huh?" Mac asked, wondering why he seemed to spend so much time saying "huh?" these days.

Up on the stage, Silas was shushing the crowd. "Folks, my brothers and I…and Duncan who is an honorary Horseman if there ever was such a thing (Applause) want to do a number for you. One that dates from the early years of our partnership. You might recognize it was covered in the early seventies by a fairly famous contemporary group." He nodded to the DJ who started the music.

"Just try to follow, Mac, you should know this one," Methos whispered just as Silas began to sing:

"Egyptian girls are hip, I really dig those tombs of theirs. And Sumerian girls with their ziggurats, They knock me out when I'm down there. All along the Tiber you find lots of shapely babes, And Minoan Crete where the girls are neat, Wins a lot of happy raves."

The other Horsemen launched into the chorus and Duncan just went with the flow:

"I wish they all could be Babylonian, I wish they all could be Babylonian, I wish they all could be Babylonian girrrrrrrls.

Silas grinned at them. Duncan was starting to get into it and was doing some shoulder action when Methos started walking like an Egyptian. The sound of Caspian's falsetto above the other voices nearly made Duncan fall off the edge of the stage.

"They've got temples to their goddess, And the girls all look so fine, With my chariot and a purse of coins, I got a date most any time. I been all around the ancient world, And I met all kind of girls, Yeah, But I sure do miss all those nights of bliss, In the fertile delta of the world."

Suddenly they were all taking off across the stage sideways like huge black crabs. Duncan almost panicked but the sight of all the women in the room, even – he could hardly believe it – Wynetta, jumping up and down or screaming or swooning as they sang juiced him mightily and he began to belt:

"I wish they all could be Babylonian, I wish they all could be Babylonian, I wish they all could be Babylonian girrrrrrls…" ["California Girls © Brian Wilson/(Mike Love uncredited lyricist) Mangled, but with apologies.]

As the chorus faded and the crowd went wild, Duncan found himself bowing and waving.

"Man, you are easy," Methos hissed at him as Caspian did a stage dive.

A waitress handed a note to Duncan: "Meet me under the head table at two." It was unsigned, and the handwriting was not familiar.

The dancing began in earnest as the older people withdrew to the safety of their rooms upstairs, and Duncan found himself doing the neo-aboriginal campus bounce with Buffy to some wildly ethnic-sounding rock. Later, he jitterbugged with both Ashley and Cher to the music of "The Cherry-Poppin' Daddys." He was actually having a good time at a wedding, he realized as he danced with Amanda, Cassandra, cousin Louise, Gina who invited him over to her place for dinner the following week, someone named Jimmybob, cousin Fiona, Bridget, and cousins Elliejane and Szabo.

Two a.m. arrived and Duncan approached the head table with mixed apprehension and excitement. He supposed that since he had no idea who he was meeting, he could slip under the table cloth anywhere and wait to be claimed. At this point, it didn't much matter who claimed him either; his libido was way out of control and the room was comfortingly dark. He flipped the tablecloth up at one end and was hit with a warm, sticky, musk-scented whuff of air as he dove under.

He thought he saw the glint of diamonds, and his fingers brushed a pale crewcut of baby-fine hair. "Don't tell Cher," Ashley begged, and Duncan realized it was Buffy she was with.

He crawled past them only to find Amanda (he knew her by scent), Joe (he'd know that beard anywhere) and Cassandra ("Watch the nails!) engaged in what felt like a complicated geometric problem. He tried to climb past as quickly as possible but somehow (he didn't want to think how, either) got goosed with Joe's cane and whacked his head on the table. "Poor baby," Cassandra cooed in his ear, her voice making his hair, and a few other bits of him stand up straight, and he remembered again why he'd found her attractive. "Later," he promised them.

He tried very hard to get past Byron (There was intoning going on; it had to be Byron) and some woman, who were writhing around in a very undignified manner. The tablecloth got kicked up briefly and to Duncan's shock, he realized it was Wynetta. The ruffles on her dress were missing entirely, he found as he put a hand wrong and winced, expecting a swift and merciless punishment. Instead billows of soft, warm flesh seemed to welcome him. He blinked. "Wynetta?"

"Hi sugar," she said in a voice warm as a lazy Louisiana afternoon. He found, as tried to crawl past that her skirt had acquired a hip-high slit just like Amanda's. Wynetta had…very nice legs, he realized with some surprise and not a little admiration.

"MacClod, my dear friend," Byron intoned, "You have my lifelong thanks for introducing me to his heavenly creature."

"I may have been wrong about you and your friends," Wynetta purred.

Someone's hand fondled his groin and Duncan hit his head on the table again.

He crawled into a cloud of white.

"You people must know there's a bridal suite in this hotel," he grumped at Silas and Bobbi Jean.

"This is more fun," Bobbi Jean giggled.

Duncan rolled down off of Silas and onto Travis. "Ohmygod," he breathed, but Travis didn't seem to notice. Then Duncan realized from the voices below him that Travis was on top of Cher and they were at it with such ferocity that they didn't even notice Duncan climbing over them. He shut his eyes (rather needlessly considering that even after they adjusted to the darkness, he could still only make out the outlines of what he was crawling over.) and kept them shut until he got past them and past Caspian (No mistaking him in the dark, thank goodness) who was trying out the new tongue piercing on Erzabet. (No mistaking her either. Duncan took advantage of the darkness to give her a little bite on the shoulder.

The end of the table loomed, Duncan could tell because the tablecloth was rucked up at one corner. Right there he found Methos and Kronos renewing old bonds of friendship.

"Okay who sent the note?" Mac asked them.

Methos disengaged his lips from Kronos'. "I thought you sent me one."

Kronos started sucking on his earlobe and he shuddered.

"No. I thought mine came from one of you."

"Kronos got one, too."

"Thank goodness," Kronos added, licking Duncan's neck. "The goat herders were starting to look good to me."

"Oh hell, who cares who sent them? You up for a little male bonding?" Methos asked, but Duncan was already spooned up against Kronos with one hand inside his shirt and the other working at Methos' belt buckle.

 

Silas, always the strongest and most resilient of the Horsemen, was the first out from under the table when the hotel staff came in to set up for the wedding breakfast.

The room looked like a war zone, he reflected, which gave him a nice, warm, sentimental feeling. There were bodies slumped everywhere, and clothing hanging from one of the chandeliers.

"What a good party," he said to Bobbi Jean who emerged from under the table wearing his dress shirt and her white satin high heels.

"Ohmygod, look at this place."

"Honey, our friends had a good time; that's what counts. And the notes worked," he told her, peeping under the table at the piles of bodies.

"Something had to. I was tired of watching them all do the two-step around each other all night," she said, trying to straighten her hair which was looking a lot like Caspian's that morning. She gave up and finished the glass of champagne that was sitting at her place at the table.

Silas gave her a big kiss. "I married a brilliant woman!"

"And I married a handsome, talented, adorable man," she replied with a fond smile.

"Ahh, the tee shirts!"

Hotel workers dropped three large boxes on the dance floor.

"Honey, give me a hand with these will you? I think some of our guests will need some clothing this morning." He tore the boxes open and he and Bobbi Jean began to distribute the shirts to the comatose.

The guests who had taken rooms for the night came down for the breakfast about ten. The room, though somewhat less attractive than it had been the night before, was clean, and reset, and a breakfast buffet stood along one side.

It was a little disconcerting to see so many people wearing identical tee shirts (and in some cases not much else) asleep at the tables.

"What's it say?" Kronos asked. He'd been refusing to open his eyes since eight that morning when the DJ finally collapsed and had to be carried out.

Methos peered down at his own chest. "It's not a language I recognize," he said, sounding confused.

Duncan tsked at them. "You boys need a keeper. It says, "I survived Silas' and Bobbi Jean's wedding, November 1999."

The crowd from under the head table was now pretty much all propped up around it, looking bleary but happy. Duncan noted that Travis and Cher seemed to have made peace with Ashley and Buffy and all four of them were sitting together looking blond(e), beautiful and burned out. Cassandra and Amanda were snugged up on either side of Joe who had a wide, crooked grin on his face.

Down the table a way, Byron was reciting poetry to Wynetta who, with her makeup wiped off onto Byron's jacket and her hair deflated no longer looked like a Smithfield ham in a bad wig. Caspian and Erzabet were sitting quietly, holding hands.

Duncan looked at the two Horsemen he seemed to have inherited, and figured that he'd have to get a bell boy and a cart to get both Kronos and Methos out to the T-Bird after breakfast.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Silas boomed. "Thank you all for your kindness to me and my beautiful bride. Please enjoy your breakfast. We have a plane to catch. We'll send you all postcards from our honeymoon in Tahiti!" And in a flurry of applause, they were gone.

Fortunately by the time breakfast was over, Methos was ambulatory again and Kronos had opened one eye. Mac didn't have to do much more than shoo them out of the hotel and towards the parking lot.

"Good wedding," they all agreed.

"Did you see the gifts?" Kronos asked. "They were up in the bridal suite. That cheap jerk Byron gave them an autographed copy of his poems."

"First edition?" Mac asked.

"Always the antique dealer. No a paperback. Speaking of antiques, nice bed."

"Thanks."

"I think Caspian's gift was the best," Methos told them. "A gold-plated, skull-shaped jar that looks a lot like Tyffani."

All three men stopped short.

"Ohmygod," Duncan said. "My car!"

"Somebody goofed," Kronos said as he inspected the newly-decorated T-Bird.

"Somebody wrote "Just Married" all over! I can't drive it around like this!" Mac wailed.

"Calm down, Mac, we can wash it when we get home. Oh man, that isn't all they wrote."

"What? What?"

"Never mind, it'll just upset you."

"Maybe we should take the inflated condoms and tin cans off, though," Kronos suggested, flicking at a French tickler with his index finger.

Methos tested the bond on one of the condoms. "Uhhh, they're glued on, Mac."

"Glue?"

"The cans and shoes are on plastic-coated cable. We'll need something more than a pair of scissors for this," Kronos told him.

Mac sighed. "Okay, forget it. Get in. Let's get out of here before anyone else notices."

"How could they not notice?"

"Shut up, Methos."

They sped through the streets of Seacouver, attracting their fair share of attention. Methos, who rode in the back, with the wind whipping through his hair and the sunlight warm on his face was reminded of the glory days when the Horsemen rode out of the sun, getting a lot of attention.

He hoped that the super glue he'd used on the condoms wouldn't take the finish off the car. Sometimes, he reflected as he listened to the music of tin cans, old shoes and Mac's radio blasting old Cab Calloway tunes, you just had to make a little noise in the world.


End file.
